A State of Madness
by Ellethwen Celtica
Summary: Fifty one-shots on the fifty states. Sixth Chapter: Alaska doubts the existence of Santa Claus, and Finland visits the Jones household.
1. Chapter 1

Percy Philadelphia Jones was annoyed. And it wasn't a minor annoyance, one that he could merely brush off like the great majority of things in life (after all, he was immortal and they were bound to go away eventually). No, this was the one thing in life that he could not stand.

The convenience store was out of Hershey's Chocolate. Actually, to be quite honest, he wasn't sure if they even stocked it in the first place. And it wasn't even like he could go somewhere else. It was almost two o'clock in the morning. He was lucky he could even find a place that was open and sold chocolate milk.

Not for the first time this morning, Percy decided he hated his boss. Every time he asked for a "quick favor," it ended up with Percy staying up all night doing something he didn't want to be doing. He cursed his need to be such a people pleaser, something ingrained in his personality since the Quakers taught it to him.

Percy pushed his glasses up as he stared at the candy shelf. They, being the representation of the Hershey's chocolate factory, automatically listed facts about each candy as he looked at them, including cocoa content, country of origin, sugar percentage, number of calories, and the top three ingredients in each candy.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the clerk watching him. There was ten minutes to closing, and it was obvious that the guy wanted him out of here. After all, who would want to be manning a convenience store in the middle of the night any longer than necessary?

_I'll just pick a different chocolate. Just this once._ Now the trouble was which to choose? They all seemed equally good (well, equally inferior). But which to choose? Snickers, Twix, Kit-kat? Virginia and Washington had assured him that Mars candy was definitely good, and it was common knowledge that Swiss chocolate was tasty, which meant anything Nestlé.

There was a sudden tapping noise, and Percy jumped a little. The clerk had started tapping his fingers on the counter top, not even trying to hide the fact that he wanted Percy out. Percy started sweating a little. It wasn't his fault he was taking so long! If they'd just had what he wanted in the first place, then this wouldn't have been a problem, and he would have been in and out within sixty seconds. Instead, they had to sell everything _but_ the candy that was made in their own damn state. Their fault entirely.

Tap. Tap tap-tap. Tap. Tap tap-tap. Tap. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap tap-tap tap tap-tap. Percy's scowl deepened as the clerk tapped out the traditional wedding song. He glanced over again, to find that the clerk was watching the seconds tick by on the wall clock over the door. Glancing at the clock himself, Percy discovered that he'd wasted five minutes staring at the candy. Well, damn.

Percy suddenly came to a realization. He was an addict. Of chocolate. And a snobby one, too. It was like being offered your drug of choice and trying to refuse it because it didn't have the purity level you were used to, but not being able to tear yourself away, because you are addicted. Percy realized his hands were trembling, and wondered if it was just from exhaustion, or lack of chocolate.

The clerk let out a very audible sigh, and Percy looked up at the clock again. Two minutes left. _Oh, the agony of indecision._ Percy couldn't quite tell if the thought was sarcastic or serious. He looked over his choices again, and again, they all seemed equal. Why was this so hard? It was just _chocolate_, for Pete's sake!

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Percy wanted to snap at the clerk for being so annoying. Honestly, he was prolonging the decision! Quickly, he glanced up at the clock again. Only a minute left.

_To hell with indecision._

Percy grabbed all of the candies that had chocolate in them and brought them up to the counter. The clerk gave another sigh, this one seeming to say "About time!" Percy swallowed down the urge to say something rude.

The clerk scanned the bar code of each of the candies, the machine making a shrill "BEEP!" each time.

"Your total is ten dollars and ninety-eight cents," the clerk said, his tone having less excitement than the monotonous hum of the refrigerators at the back.

Percy gave a cheerful smile as he pulled money out of his coat pocket. He put two rolls of dimes and a roll of pennies on the counter, then broke open another one, removed two pennies, and walked out. _I hope you have to count all of that,_ he thought, unwrapping one of his candies. He bit into it, walking down the pitch dark alleyway that was a short cut back to his house. It wasn't bad, he supposed, but it wasn't Hershey's.

He only had three chocolate bars left by the time he returned to his house, and had come to the conclusion that Swiss chocolate was definitely better than Mars chocolate, no matter what Washington and Virginia say, and had come up with fourteen different ideas on a new chocolate bar for Hershey's, as well as three minor thoughts for tweaking the recipe of a couple chocolates already produced by Hershey's.

Percy fumbled around in the dark for the right key to his house as he walked up the porch steps. He then tripped over a box that happened to be on the top step. He let out a choice German word or two, unlocked the door, and took the box inside.

Once he turned on the light, he found the box had a note on top. _Percy,_ it read, _thanks for being such a big help in the last couple weeks. I know I've been kind of a pain, but now I'd like to make it up a little with this.-Tom Corbett_ Percy sliced open the box with his pocketknife. Inside lay at least fifty Hershey's chocolate bars.

"Nope!" he said aloud. "Not doing this. Not after all I've done for chocolate tonight." He grabbed the box and took it into the pantry, setting it on the highest shelf, where younger and shorter states couldn't get to it, should they happen to come around any time soon. He then turned off all of his lights and went to bed.

Ten minutes later, he crept back down to the pantry. One couldn't hurt…


	2. Chapter 2

There was a bang, and Indiana Indianapolis Jones quickly pulled the car over before it could swerve dangerously. He swore a little as he got out. He checked to see the problem, and found an easy fix: the tire had blown out, so all he had to do was change it.

He quickly opened the trunk and pulled the spare tire out, laying it next to his blown tire. Then he pulled up the carpet of the trunk, opened the secret toolbox…

And found that the two integral tools of changing a flat tire were missing. He swore out loud as he remembered that he'd lent his jack and his lug wrench to his neighbor back home so that the neighbor could save someone else with a flat tire, and said neighbor had yet to return it. Indiana sighed irritably. This might prove to be a problem.

He wouldn't call Illinois. Not yet. Frankie was bound to make fun of him if he called needing help with _car trouble_ of all thing. After all, he was Indiana Jones, car mechanic extraordinaire! Petty things like flat tires were unknown to him, and certainly not something he would call for help with.

Indiana wondered where Dad was. Probably nowhere near, but it didn't hurt to ask. He whipped out his cell phone and dialed the familiar number. It went straight to voicemail. He didn't leave a message. Dad only turned his phone off if he was in a very important meeting, meaning he was either with the President of the United States of America or he was at a country meeting. Either way, he was too far away to be of assistance.

Indiana tried to think of who else he could call. Ohio was visiting New York at the moment. Michigan had gone on a week long camping trip with Saskatchewan and Nova Scotia. There was no one close enough to call…except Frankie.

He opened the trunk again to see if there was any possibility of having a spare lug wrench or jack. When that failed to produce results, he looked through the rest of the car. There was nothing. Indiana gave an annoyed sigh and ran a hand through his hair. He decided he would give it an hour, and if no one stopped on the side of the road to help him, he'd call Illinois. He cursed himself for taking the back roads rather than the highway to Frankie's house.

About fifteen minutes into his wait, Indiana's phone started going off. Illinois was calling him. He hit the button on the side of his phone to make it silent. It was silent for about thirty seconds, and then it started ringing again. This process continued about three times. Then Indiana received a text.

_**Hey u ok? Why r u not here yet? –IL**_

Indiana ignored it.

**_Indie, answer me. -IL_**

**_Indie, u ok?-IL_**

**_Do u need a hospital? -Il_**

_**R u dead?-Il**_

Indiana considered answering 'yes' to the last text, just to see what Illinois would say about that, but decided against it.

_**Indiana Jones, if ur ignoring me im gonna make u wish snakes were the ONLY thing ur afraid of. –IL**_

Making fun of his name now. Because that was obviously the correct way to get someone to talk to you. Indiana scowled and tossed his phone into the passenger seat. Half an hour had gone by, and not a single car had passed. You'd think the dirt roads would be busier, it was summer after all. Farmers should be driving tractors or something.

A different tune began playing on his phone. Indiana picked it up. It was Pennsylvania. Indiana wondered why on Earth _he_ would be calling at this moment, but picked up the phone anyway. "Hello?"

"So you are alive. I don't know why you aren't answering Frankie, but he called me, thinking that I'd be more likely to reach you. I hope it's worth it, because it's the middle of the night in Germany."

"What are you doing in Germany?" Indiana asked. There was a click and a tone. Indiana huffed in annoyance. Percy usually wasn't that impolite. Oh well, he did get woken up in the middle of the night. It was probably chocolate related business anyway.

Indiana looked at the dashboard clock. Time to swallow his pride. He dialed Frankie's number.

"It's about damn time you called!" Frankie snapped into the phone. "I've only been trying to reach you for the last half an hour!"

"Shut up Frankie. Just bring a jack and a lug wrench to 450 and 1775."

"Excuse me? Did I hear that right? I thought you said you needed a lug wrench and a jack."

"Don't make me repeat it."

"Indiana Freaking Jones needs car help? This is a momentous occasion! I'm going to take pictures!" For the second time that hour, Indiana heard a click and a tone. He sighed and put his forehead against the steering wheel. It was going to be a _long_ day.


	3. Chapter 3

"YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER!" Colorado yelled, storming out of Massachusetts's house and slamming the door behind him. Honestly, he was so freaking annoying. He _always_ overreacted to _everything._ Just because Rocky had decided to become a vegetarian, Salem had to turn it into a big deal and then a big argument.

Rocky decided to run for a while to clear his head. His red curls bounced up and down in his face as he slowly got up to speed. He wouldn't go back to Salem's house, at least not for a few days. Salem still treated him like he didn't think his decisions all the way through. He was a hundred and thirty-seven, a little more mature than he was when he'd first decided to take Salem bear hunting with him. He hadn't done anything rashly stupid since then. Well, at least not that often. He almost always researched things before doing them, such as skydiving or bungee jumping off a cliff. He knew the risks and took as many precautions as possible. He even always wore sun block to prevent cancer, even though he was immortal. Salem just never saw that he was becoming a responsible young adult.

He should probably apologize to Salem. The last time they'd had an argument like this, they didn't talk to each other for six months. But still, Salem was going to have to accept that Rocky was going vegetarian and there was nothing else to it. He'd wait a few days, let it sink in, and then apologize. Maybe make him some food. Food was always a good way to apologize. And Rocky knew the perfect recipe to make the apology just a little sweeter, for him at least. Salem liked oysters, right?

xxx

"Hi Salem. Glad you could come," Rocky said, grinning at the considerably less happy person in front of him.

"Why'm ah heah again?" Salem asked. Right. He was still angry that Rocky stormed out.

Rocky grinned wider. "I wanted to apologize for being a jerk, so I made you some Rocky Mountain Oysters."

"Oystahs? They's no oystahs in the mountains!" Salem's thick eyebrows drew closer together as he glared disbelievingly at Rocky.

"These are special oysters. They grow on prairies instead of in the water." Rocky's green eyes sparkled in delight as he led the blond into the dining room.

"Then they awnt oystahs. Theah aliens. Oystahs don't grow on land." Salem stopped for a moment. "Ah thought you weah a vegetarian now? What happened tah that?"

"I'm not the one eating them. Sit down, I'll bring them to you."

Rocky went into the kitchen, choking down a snicker. He put the oysters onto a plate, and then put some fried eggplant onto his own. He wasn't really that hungry, but it would look weird if he was just watching Salem eat.

He set the plate down in front of Salem and sat down himself. "This is ovahsized popcown shrimp."

"This is the west," Rocky said. "We fry everything, including what was never meant to be fried."

"Yah grin is making yah look like a damn Russian. Stahp that. It's wee-id." Rocky looked down at his eggplant and tried to tone down his grin. Across the table, Salem gave the strange food a try. It didn't taste _too_ bad, he supposed, but it wasn't an oyster.

"Well, what do you think?" Rocky asked, unable to contain his excitement.

"It's wicked pissah," Salem said, in a flat tone.

Rocky's smile dropped a bit. "Was that sarcastic?" he asked.

Light green eyes raised an eyebrow at forest green eyes. "No," he said, in the same tone.

Rocky still didn't know if it was sarcastic or not, but just decided to take it as non-sarcastic. "Okay. Glad you like it!" he said, grin returning.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, Rocky grinning like he'd heard a joke that no one else did. It unnerved Salem a bit, as he'd known Rocky long enough that that usually meant Rocky had done something.

"So what aw these really? Theyah not oystahs foh shuh, so what aw they?"

"They're mountain land oysters, battered and fried. That's all," Rocky said. He looked innocent of doing anything to the oysters, so Salem decided to take him at his word and look up the recipe when he got home.

They ate the rest of the meal with only small talk, and then Salem left. All seemed to be forgiven between the two. Food did miraculous things.

xxx

Rocky's phone rang at about midnight. He fumbled around for his phone, still half asleep, and hit the answer button. "'Lo?" he mumbled.

There was a loud, furious Boston accent speaking about cows and oysters and "how DAYAH he?" and Rocky started snickering. He quickly muffled the sound with his pillow, but wasn't fast enough.

"Aw-aw yah _laughing_ at me?" Salem nearly shouted.

"No _suh_!" Rocky said, in his best Bostonian accent. "You know, vegetarians never have to worry about the mystery meat!" He hung up on Salem, laughing out loud.

He was so dead when Salem got to him. Idly, Rocky wondered how expensive plane tickets to the south pole were this time of year.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or the play Eurydice.**

As he looked in the mirror at his face full of makeup, Alexander Albany Jones thought that maybe he had made a bad decision. This was the third espresso he'd had in the last hour. Before that he'd had four cups of coffee. Usually, coffee helped him to be more awake, alert, and calm. He had to say, he had two of the three. He was extraordinarily awake and more alert than a cat on the prowl. But calm? He'd forgotten the meaning of calm.

This might also have something to do with the fact that it was opening night of the first play he'd ever actually done. It might have also had something to do with the drink that the more experienced actors had given him earlier in the day. He didn't know what was in it, and when he'd asked, Mario had said "Ogre urine, fairy dust and unicorn spit." It had tasted like cherries and carbonation.

The intercom on the wall crackled, and the whisper of the stage manager came out. "Five minutes to show time. Orpheus and Eurydice to the stage. Break a leg everyone."

That meant he had about ten minutes before he had to be onstage himself. Quietly, he finished his espresso while repeating his lines over and over again. He knew them by heart, of course, but practice made perfect.

"Creepy Man to the stage." Had ten minutes passed already? Silently, he went to the stage, his nerves becoming more and more excited each step he took, until his heart was about ready to burst out of his chest and hop away to perform by itself. He hid himself behind the curtain just as he heard Father say, "I write you letters. I don't know how to get them to you. Love, your father." He could see just enough to watch Mario walk his imaginary daughter up to her imaginary groom, and then dash out, right past him, clapping him silently on the shoulder to wish him luck. There was a blackout, the techies went onstage, moving the set, and disappearing. All of this was happening so slowly, and yet, impossibly quick. And then there was light. A girl sitting on a bench next to a water pump. The noise of a party.

"I hate parties," the girl said. "And a wedding party is the biggest party of all." It was almost his turn. Almost his cue.

"I always thought there would be more interesting people at my wedding." There. He came out from behind the curtain, trench coat flaring out fabulously behind him. He studied Eurydice drinking from the water pump for a moment, and then sat down far too close to her, invading her personal space.

"Aw you a homeless person?" he asked. Someone giggled in the audience. Eurydice jumped and immediately scooted as far away from him as the bench allowed. More laughter.

"No."

"Oh," he said, and leaned back. "I'm on my way to a party where dayah are really very interesting people. Would you like to join me?" He stood up and held a hand out to her.

She shook her head. "No. I just left my own party."

He raised his eyebrows, and said dramatically, "You were giving a party and you just _left?_"

"I was thirsty."

He sat down next to her again, very close, and again she tried to scoot away. "You must be a vewy interesting person, to leave your own party like dat."

"…thank you?"

"You mustn't care at all what other people tink of you. I always say dat's the mark of a really interesting person, don't you?"

"I…guess."

He gave Eurydice a creepy grin. "So would you like to accompany me to dis interesting affair?"

"Nothankyou," Eurydice said, very quickly. There was a loud burst of laughter. "I just got married, you see."

"Oh," he said, disappointed. "Lots of people do dat."

"That's true. Lot's of people do."

"What's yah name?"

"Eurydice."

He looked at her hungrily. "Eurydice."

She stood up quickly. "Good bye then!" and ran off.

"Good bye," he said with a smile and a wave. A white piece of paper caught his attention, and he picked it up. He unfolded it and read the first line aloud. "Dear Eurydice." The rest of the letter was written by the techies, and he read it as the lights flickered and dimmed. _Dear Eurydice, this dude is a creeper and also Lord of the Underworld. I bet you're pretty nervous, yeah? Don't be: the worst night is tomorrow. Love, the Props Techs. :D_

After that beginning, everything else went without a hitch, at least for him. He had plenty of time to change from one costume to the next, unlike Eurydice, who had to go from the wedding dress to her dead dress in under a minute. Even riding the tiny red tricycle wasn't too hard for him, and the audience laughed so much when he came on, ringing the little bell. When he finally came out for curtain call, he saw that several of the front audience members were in tears, and he knew that he and his fellow cast and crew had done a good job. The techies bowed, and they all ran offstage and out into the lobby to meet the audience as they came out.

The first one out was Alex's sister Cali, who practically tackled him in a flying ninja jump hug. "I TOLD YOU!" she shouted. "I told you you would be a brilliant actor! And what did you say? You said no! You said that all you'd ever be was a fail with stage fright! Ha!" And then just as quickly as she'd come, she was off telling the other actors and techies how brilliant they'd all been. Jeffery and Salem came out next, muttered something about how he'd sucked less than usual, and then left. Coming from those two, it was high praise. Finally, Arkady, Lilo, and the hero himself, Mr. Alfred F. Jones, came out. Alfred began by shaking the hands of and congratulating all the other actors, and then, grinning, came over to Alex. The two youngest siblings trailed along behind him. Lilo was slightly too young to understand the ending of the play, but Arkady was just old enough, and he was sniffling slightly.

"Did da ending sadden you?" Alex asked Arkady.

"Of course not," Arkady said. "Russian heroes don't cry. I'm just allergic to tragedies."

"Of course," Alex said, grinning.

"Your performance was awesome!" Alfred said, grinning wider than Alex. He ruffled his hair. "Although I gotta say, you're wearing more makeup than I've ever seen any of your sisters wearing, _ever_."

Alex snorted. "Yeah, it's a pain to get off, too. No one told me dat it took more den soap and water until twee days after we all started wearing it." The two of them laughed. Lilo yawned, and Arkady tried not to.

Alfred smiled gently. "I think it's time that the kids go to bed, how about you?"

"Oh, I'm not tired," Alex said. "I had a ridiculous amount of cawfee today. I'll be up for da rest of the night and probably most of the morning."

"Well, I'll drive you home anyway."

"Okay, just let me wash off da makeup and change into street clothes." Seeing as how the great majority of people were gone, and those who weren't were parents of cast and crew, Alex deemed it safe to change out. He did so, putting his final costume on the bottom of the stack for tomorrow. He washed off the makeup and tried to smooth his hair down. Long Island popped up again, as usual, but Alex ignored it, having deemed that part of his blond hair a lost cause long ago.

Cali had called shotgun a split second before Alex had, so he, Arkady, and Lilo were all in the back seat of Alfred's car. The ride started out loud and rambunctious, as everyone was talking, but it slowly became quieter, as everyone drifted off into their own thoughts.

"Da-ad."

"Yes, Arkady?"

"Lilo and Alex are sleeping on me!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Now featuring: Canadians! Also, a few guest appearances.**

**Just in case you need it: Owen=Ontario, Albert=Alberta, Rocky=Colorado, Alfred=USA, Arthur=England, and Francis=France**

* * *

"Someone told me I was America's Canada yesterday," Rocky said, skiing slowly to keep pace with the Canadians.

"You are America's Canada," Owen said. "Get used to it." He was the only one of the three with a snowboard, and as such, the only one walking.

"I am not! How am I possibly Canadian?"

"You aren't affected by the cold," Albert said.

"Well, no, but—"

"Pot's legal here too," Owen said, grinning widely.

"Of course you would mention that, Owen," Albert said, shaking his head.

"What? It's true, eh?"

"Yeah, but—" Rocky tried again, but Owen cut him off again.

"You have about fifteen hockey teams here."

"Other states have—"

"Colorado's famous for beer and wine, isn't it?" Albert asked.

"Well, we might have some recognition, but—"

"You can drive in the snow in the mountains better than in the rain on the plains," Owen said teasingly.

"Yeah, but—"

"You wear toques just as much as we do," Albert said.

"It's a beanie. And it's warm!" Rocky protested.

"And you're modestly denying your best qualities. _Obviously _you're Canadian," Owen said.

"I'm not Canadian!" Rocky denied hotly.

"Just admit it. See, look, the three of us complete the blonde joke. I'm blond, Albert's brun, and you're a redhead. Obviously we're meant to be part of the same country."

"Kali, Conner, and I complete the blond joke, too, and we are part of the same country, as well as being the only states whose names begin with a 'C'." They had reached the top of the ski slope.

Owen waved his hand in a "so-not-important" manner. "Details," he said.

"You will beat me going down this ski slope before I admit that I'm a Canadian, and we both know that neither of those are going to happen."

Owen's violet eyes got a dangerous sparkle to them. "That so, eh?"

"Does everything have to be a competition with you two?" Albert asked. "I mean, surely we could—"

"Go!" Owen said, jumping on his snowboard and flying down the hill.

"You're going to lose, Owen," Rocky said, taking off after him.

"I'd like to see you catch up to me, hoser!" Owen said from below.

Albert sighed, setting off down the hill. When it came to this family, if you can't beat them, join them, eh?

He caught up to them fairly quickly, as the two were trying to push each other off course or hug or something like that. Suddenly, he had the inclination to do something stupid (he wasn't called "Canada's Texas" for nothing). He skied in between the two, and casually tripped them with his ski poles. Rocky swore and Owen shrieked as they tumbled down the hill, momentum being slightly two great for them to catch their balance and get back up. "Sorry!" Albert yelled as he passed them.

He got to the bottom of the slope about thirty seconds before Owen did. Owen had given up on trying to stand up and ended up tumbling down the hill with the snowboard sticking out on either side. It had actually proven to be rather effective, as the snowboard kept him from rolling off in either direction. He finally rolled to a stop about two feet away from Albert. Owen squinted at the sky for a moment before asking, "Is the sky rotating, or is it just the mountain?"

Rocky's descent was considerably less graceful. He had somehow managed to keep both ski poles and both skis but had not yet managed to get up, and tended to cross his skis every time he tried. As Albert watched Rocky literally hit the slope over and over again, he prayed that nothing was broken. He winced as Rocky then proceeded to crash headfirst into a tree. "Sorry. Sorry sorry sorry," he whispered.

"We should probably go help him," Owen said, detaching himself from his snowboard.

Albert nodded and the two of them took off up the slope again. Each of them found a ski pole and Owen found a ski that had decided to travel more after its owner had already stopped. Albert was the first to reach Rocky. His hands and the lower half of his face were covered in blood, and it had started to drip onto his clothes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Albert said, freaking out slightly.

"Oh shud ub, Abberda," Rocky said. "Iz jusd a buddy nose. And iz brobabbie Owen's fawd anyway."

"Yeah," Owen said, producing a handkerchief and yanking Rocky to his feet. "We shouldn't have been pushing each other anyway. It's dangerous on the mountains at the best of times if you're messing around."

"But—"

"Bud nudding. Lez go ged some hod jog-led ad de gaffay."

"What?"

"Hot chocolate, eh?" Owen said. "Sounds awesome. Let's go." He picked up Rocky's other ski and led the other two back down the ski slope. He picked up his snowboard and Albert got his skis.

Fifteen minutes later they were in a café. Owen had "fixed" their hot chocolates by dumping a half bottle of maple syrup into them. "You Canadians and your maple syrup," Rocky said.

"You Americans and your hamburgers," Owen replied.

"I don't eat hamburgers," Rocky said. "I'm a vegetarian."

"B.C. hasn't had maple syrup since the 70s. See where stereotypes get you?" Owen asked, sliding Rocky's hot chocolate to him.

"Why'd she quit?"

"You make it sound like it was an addiction. She and Que—I mean, Jean, made a bet. So far, she's winning."

"They made a forty-year bet? For what?"

"Like they'd tell Owen what the stakes are," Albert said. "But Jean bet B.C. that she couldn't lay off maple syrup for fifty years and she took the bet."

Suddenly, three blonds walked into the café. Two of them were arguing and the third was laughing at them. Rocky raised an eyebrow. "Why is Dad here?" he muttered. "He hates snow and cold."

"And with the Uncles too," Albert said. "Strange things are occurring."

Owen was suddenly glomped. "Oh, Mathieu, I did not know you would be here today!"

"I'm…not Matthew, I'm Owen," he said, stiffening in the Frenchman's embrace.

"Of course you're Mathieu. Don't lie to _frère aîné_ France." Owen had a look of "Help me" on his face.

Rocky laughed a little and stole Owen's glasses, putting them on his own face. "See! I totally told you they worked, did I not? And you look so _adorable_ with glasses! And they worked, even though he claims to be your brother…and thinks your name is Mathieu…They worked!"

Owen just stared at Rocky in shock for a moment before saying, "You're an asshole."

"Technically, everyone starts out as an asshole. Some just never grow out of it."

"Like you."

"Hmm," Rocky said, staring at Owen from over the top of his glasses. Then he turned to the Frenchman. "Matthew's that guy's twin, isn't he?" he asked, jerking his thumb at Alfred, who had now gotten a table with Arthur.

"Oui, 'e is," Francis replied.

"Yeah, I met him. This ain't the guy you're looking for. This is Owen, and he's about as Canadian as Justin Bieber." Owen gave him a glare, but Rocky ignored it.

"Oh," Francis said, releasing him. "I am terribly sorry."

"It's alright," Owen mumbled.

Rocky grinned. "Eres un poco adorable canadiense, you know that?"

"Maybe I would, if I understood it."

"Oh, right," Rocky said. "You don't speak Spanish. We should go ghost hunting. I know an old haunted mine shaft right near here."

"Absolutely not!" Alfred called over to him. "Mine shafts are dangerous! And so are ghosts!"

"Aw, come on! It's not like I haven't—" Rocky stopped talking immediately. "Ahem, I mean, yes sir, no problem sir, we'll do the safe thing and explore the shops instead, sir." He grinned brightly.

Alfred looked at him suspiciously for a moment, and then returned the grin. "Go on then. Have fun with your cousins!"

The three of them evacuated the café as fast as possible with a few thanks and an "Adios!"

Arthur sighed. "You know they're going to the mineshaft, right?" he asked.

Alfred frowned at him. "No they're not. They're going to the shops. That's what they just said."

Arthur gave him a disapproving stare. "Do you ever read between the lines?"

"Yeah, actually. I bought it off Amazon a few months ago. Cool book, but I still don't see what it has to do with any of our conversations. Princes coming out of books has nothing to do with teenagers in mine shafts at all!"

Arthur stared at him disbelievingly. "Do you _ever_ make any sense?"

"I'm making perfect sense! You're the one who thinks princes and mine shafts go together!"

"Ugh, you two should juzt kiss already, no?" Francis said, smirking behind his cocoa.

"No!"

* * *

**The book, in case you are curious, is Between the Lines by Jodi Picoult.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Merry Christmas y'all. This was done without somebody besides me reading it first, as my writing buddy's on vacation at the moment, so please tell if there's any mistakes.**

* * *

"I'm telling you, Santa isn't real," Arkady said. "If he was, don't you think I'd know?"

"But he _is_ real!" Lilo said.

"And what makes you so sure of that?" Arkady asked. Being twelve (in human years) and not having grown up with stories of Santa, Arkady was firmly against the idea of Santa existing.

"Well…" Lilo said, thinking hard. "Dad wouldn't know what we want for Christmas! We sent the letters to Santa!"

"It's not that hard to figure out when you ask him how to spell every single word on your Christmas list."

"Not _every_ word!" Lilo said with a little huff. "Will you braid my hair?"

"Sure," Arkady said, taking the offered hairbrush and beginning to work on the long, black strands. "But you still haven't told me anything that will convince me that Santa is real."

"_Quiet!_" Lilo whined. "I'm thinking!"

There was silence for a few moments while Arkady focused on putting Lilo's hair into a waterfall braid and Lilo attempted to think of a way to convince Arkady that Santa was real.

"Dad wouldn't know what was on _your_ Christmas list," Lilo said. "You don't ask him to spell anything."

"Yeah, but I give it to Dad to put in the mail. It's highly probable he reads it beforehand."

Lilo made a little noise of frustration. "There are millions of photos of Santa! They can't all be fake!"

"There are also hundreds of photos of unicorns, and it's been recorded in history that the Vikings gave narwhal horns to the English to bring about the belief in unicorns."

"Unicorns are real!" Lilo said.

"Right," Arkady said. "You still haven't convinced me that Santa is, however."

"Christmas is celebrated all over the world! How can so many people be wrong?" Lilo said, convinced she had a winning argument.

"First, it's not celebrated in as many countries as you think, and second, it was originally a Christian holiday to celebrate the birth of Jesus. Nothing to do with Santa Claus at all."

"Well, I heard Dad talking to someone on the phone today and he asked if he wanted 'the usual milk and cookies, or something stronger.' If he wasn't talking to Santa, then who was he talking to?"

"Dad's going to be having a party with the countries tomorrow. He could have been asking to see what everyone wanted to drink. Or, he could have noticed that you were listening, and just said that so you would _think_ he was talking to Santa, just to make sure you were being good."

Lilo pouted as she tried to come up with a better answer. "Dad wouldn't lie to us. If Santa wasn't real, he'd tell us."

"Parents lie to children all the time to keep them happy, like when they say that you should eat your vegetables so you can grow up tall, when really, the tallest person in your family was five-foot-two, or when they tell you that the Too—" He stopped as he noticed Lilo was idly wiggling a loose tooth. He decided not to tell her about that one. Yet. "Never mind. How about this? I'll stay up tonight and wait and see if Santa comes or not. And then I'll be convinced whether Santa is real or not."

"Nooooo!" Lilo said, anxiously. "If you stay up and wait, then he won't come to this house! Remember, 'he sees you when you're sleeping, he knows if you're awake'? He won't come if you don't go to sleep!"

"Well, there's another song that goes 'I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus,' so obviously it can be done," Arkady said. "If it's real at all," he added.

"Dad won't let you stay up," Lilo said grumpily.

"Dad goes to bed just as early as we do. I figure I'll wait for an hour and then hide behind the couch or the tree." At Lilo's disbelieving look, he tied up her hair with a bow and said, "Look, if Santa is real, then he's probably already started delivering gifts on the other side of the world, in Australia or whatever. He won't have time to look at his magical orbs or whatever it is he watches children with. So, it's highly doubtful that Santa will skip over this house because he probably doesn't know that I plan on staying up and seeing if he exists or not."

"If you say so," Lilo muttered.

"I do say so," Arkady said. "Don't you trust your older brother?"

"No," Lilo said bluntly. "You said that Rocky was a Canadian state and that Georgia was actually a country."

"Georgia is a country."

"No she's not! She's our sister and lives right next to Florence and Carl and Jackson and Lee!"

"I'm going to get you a world map for Christmas," Arkady said, smiling and shaking his head.

"You're not supposed to say what the presents are!"

xxx

Arkady was bored. He was hiding under the Christmas tree behind a particularly large present, having found out that he was _just_ too big to fit behind the couch. He could hear his dad snoring from all the way upstairs. Compared to his typical talking, however, his dad was very quiet. Arkady was sure that it was far past midnight already and that at any moment the sun would be coming up.

As he listened to his dad's snores, he came to the conclusion that it really did sound like a chainsaw cutting down a tree. "Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz," there was one tree. "Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz," there went another tree. "Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz," and a third tree was down. He counted trees until he fell asleep.

xxx

Finland came down the chimney with a cloud of soot and a sack of loot. He surveyed the house. _Everything looks good,_ he thought. He noticed that next to the tree was a table with bright blue and red cookies, cut into holiday shapes, along with a glass of milk and a bottle, presumably of liquor. _Oh, America,_ he thought with a smile, opening his pack.

He set out the presents under the tree. Then, much to his surprise, as he put a present on top of a larger present, he found a white-haired figure sleeping under the Christmas tree, a small smile on his face. "Well, this just won't do," he said quietly. He moved the presents and knelt down to pick up the little boy.

He must have jarred him a little, because the boy opened an eye. "Dad?" he asked sleepily.

"Nope," Finland said cheerfully. "I'm Santa Claus."

"No you're not," the boy mumbled. "You're too young and skinny to be Santa."

"I'm older than I look," Finland whispered conspiratorially. "And Mrs. Claus makes sure I eat healthy. Now, let's get you back to bed. I'm sure it's more comfortable than sleeping on the floor."

"Did you go to Canada already?" the boy asked. "Yuliya's been extra good this year, and Nuni's old enough to celebrate Christmas, right?"

"Ho ho ho, don't worry. They're on my nice list," Finland said. "Now, where's your room at?"

"I can get there myself," the boy said, suddenly wide awake and squirming out of Finland's hold. He looked Finland up and down, and then asked, quietly, "Are you really Santa?"

Now that Finland really saw the boy, he realized he looked like a miniature version of Russia, but without the smile or the scarf. He smiled at the boy, "Well of course I am!" he said.

The boy gave a tiny smile in return. "Okay," he said. He started walking up the stairs, then stopped. "Thank you," he said, obviously remembering his manners.

"You're welcome," Finland said, grinning. "Merry Christmas!"

"You too," the boy said, quietly rushing back up to his room. Finland gave a little wave, packed up his sack (and the cookies), and went back up the chimney. He had more work to do this night.


End file.
